We spent the day in downtown doing the Free Things that you didn’t need a Comic Con badge for like the Doctor Who Tumblr Fan Meetup, and the Regular Show Experience at the New Children’s Museum. Well. Those were really the only two things we did. But they took all day because lines. I’m throwing some pictures at you but that’s all for tonight because tired.
(Yes, I did get some excited squeals over my E&P button.)
When Rainbow first announced she was going to be in Los Angeles I decided the kids and I would make a day of it and do LA Things before the book signing. We’ve seen the tar pits and the observatory and Hollywood Things before and we will again someday, but this time we decided to go check out Angels Flight, a historic train that carries you uphill for only fifty cents. I’d never even heard of it before seeing this video a couple of months ago, and neither had Annika despite being in that general area on a regular basis. So we met up with her and a couple other friends and a whole mess of kids and we rode the train. And the kids were all GOAL ACCOMPLISHED LET’S RIDE AGAIN. And I was kinda like, HELL YEAH LET’S, but I was mostly like I’M UNPREPARED FOR LIFE IN GENERAL BUT ALSO FOR THIS THING AND I HAVE ZERO CASH SO MY ABILITY TO RIDE THIS IS BASED ENTIRELY ON WHETHER MY FRIENDS HAVE AN EXTRA $1.50 FOR MY FAMILY’S FARE. (I wonder if it’s weird to paypal someone $1.50 to pay them back?)
So, in between the train ride up and then back down we stopped at this big trashy sculpture and took a group shot. Like you do.
The train is mostly indoor seating, but does have one short bench at the top that is outdoors. On the ride up I rode outside there, but the seat was taken so I was standing up. It was… alarming. The ride inside felt like any train ride, but outside – perhaps because I was standing – I felt every little jerk or jostle and the part of the track where the trains pass each other was unnerving to say the least. But, you know me. That’s my kind of thrill. Riding up a totally safe commuter train is basically my version of Six Flags. That’s just how I roll.
Directly across from the bottom train stop is Grand Central Market. I assume this is similar to Pike Place Market (although I’m guessing Grand Central is smaller?) but we don’t have something like that here. Yet. We’re working on it, but so far the Public Market is just open once a week for farmer’s markets with the hopes that it will become a full time place in the future.
Once we were done with our picnic dinner, it was Coffee Time (cause did I mention I was working on 5 hours of sleep? And I had to keep everyone alive for just about that same amount of driving). Right there in the market was G&B Coffee which made me my very first fancy latte. I don’t even know a place here in town that makes foam pretty like this so I was ridiculously excited, but the best part is that it was made with almond milk. And you know what? It was freshly-made almond milk. I can’t do (cow) dairy, and I don’t like to do soy so I get overexcited when a coffee place does almond milk in general, but this was so creamy and light-tasting that I might just drive up there again just for that. I am not even kidding.
It’s out of focus, but damn she’s adorable.
And then we headed over to Book Soup for Rainbow’s book signing. It was so much fun. I’ve known Rainbow online for a couple of years now, but this was the first time I met her in person. We didn’t get much chance to hang out that night because things were very busy but during the reading and Q&A portion of the night she was so much like the Rainbow I know. You know. At a microphone in front of a crowd of people? Well. That is, actually, a little bit like what the internet is like, isn’t it? We’re all in front of our own microphones and crowds there listening to us? So maybe this was my most accurate online-friend meeting ever. She’s going to be in San Diego tomorrow (that’s Friday, right?) so if you have the chance, I highly recommend coming to see her. And don’t forget to enter my giveaway to win her book!
We all wore matching t-shirts because we are cool or dorks or something.
I’ve been told I have an incredible memory. I mean, I can’t remember which of my kids did what when, but I can remember all the lyrics to the Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen song. (I’m 8 years postpartum now, at what age will pregnancy brain go away?) So while the last decade or so has been a blur, I have fairly vivid memories of my childhood, all the way down to my toddler years. The funny thing about this is that, now that I’m a parent, certain things make way more sense. I don’t know if some of my misunderstandings were due to my short attention span, or if it’s just hard being a kid, but things were damn confusing when I was little.
Instance #1
I was two or just about two when my family moved to Denver for about six months. I have both memories of winter and summer. My mom and I went outside and collected a bucket of snow and huddled on the couch together eating it and watching The Young and the Restless. What? That’s a normal childhood. In the summer I remember having a stand off with my dad about pool safety. He maintained that I sit in a floatie or I don’t get in the pool. I argued that screw that I wanted in the water of my own accordthankyouverymuch. I don’t remember the outcome, but I’m guessing that he probably won.
But there was this one day when there was a rainbow out the back window. We lived on the second or maybe third floor, I don’t know, and one of the back rooms – I guess it was my parents’ bedroom because it was not the room with my changing table – had a window that looked out over the parking lot. I remember being at this window with my dad and him trying to help me find the rainbow. The directions were utterly complex. First I had to look to the left and find the tree, and then I had to look next to the tree. Then I had to find our car and look above it and to the side. Then I had to look at that building in the distance and, finally I was able to find the rainbow. I remember thinking it was such a convoluted path to the rainbow and I was in awe that anyone was ever able to find them.
Not the actual rainbow being blogged about. Like we we had the luxury to use film to take frivolous photos of city rainbows back in the dark ages in 1980. Pft.
There came a time with my own children when something similar occurred. I don’t even remember what exactly. But suddenly, 25 years later, it clicked in my brain. The path to the rainbow wasn’t complex, it was that he was trying different tactics to help me find it. Each time I had to look for a landmark was a completely separate attempt, not one long set of instructions.
I’m a little slow. Thank god I’m cute.
Instance #2
When I was in kindergarten we got kittens. They were Siamese and I named them Brother and Sister because they were a brother and sister. (I’m slow and also terrible at naming things.) Before we got all the way home, though, I changed Brother’s name to Booties because he had, you know, booties. (Really. I sucked at naming things.)
Not the actual kittens. Not actually even a kitten.
Anyway, with kittens comes a litter box, and with a litter box comes germs. My actual memory is of my mom telling me, “If you touch litter you’ll have to go to the bathroom.” I assumed, naturally, that litter has magical or scientific properties that fill your bladder and make you have to pee right that second. Once, while my mom wasn’t looking, I snuck to the litter box and tested the warning (with clean litter. come on. I wasn’t stupid). AND IT WORKED. I TOTALLY HAD TO PEE RIGHT THAT SECOND.
Psychology is cool.
Years later I finally reasoned that what she probably actually told me was something along the lines of, “Don’t touch the litter box or you’ll have to go to the bathroom and wash your hands.”
I have a reeeeeeeeally short attention span. Like. Shorter than a sentence.
Instance #3
One of these instances is not entirely like the others. Hint: It’s this instance.
After Denver we moved to England. Only for like a couple of weeks (what? that’s normal), but I have memories there as well. I remember my bedroom being all set up with my bedspread and the curtains my grandma had made. I remember riding in a taxi cab and they had these tiny seats just for me that faced backwards and IT WAS THE COOLEST THING EVER. I remember being hungry and wandering alone into a darkened kitchen, opening the refrigerator to a bright portal of light and sustenance, and finding absolutely nothing illuminated except for one head of cauliflower. Which was disgusting. I remember that the car was all backwards with the drivey bits being on the wrong side. Some of these memories are probably more accurate than other memories.
I also remember the basic floorplan of the house. I remember where the kitchen was, I remember the hallway, I remember where the bedrooms were. Here’s my basic memory, omitting those areas I have totally no memory of:
A couple of years ago I was going through my mom’s papers and I found the letter she’d written to family back here describing things. She’d included a map of the house:
I see she makes no mention whatsoever of an empty refrigerator. Gross overlook, if you ask me. Of course, one might say that I forgot that there even was a dining room. One might be totally right. One might counter that who cares about dining rooms, especially when the only thing to eat is cauliflower. But otherwise I’m impressed that I so clearly remembered a house I stayed in for so brief a time when I was 2 1/2 years old. Clearly my memory is my superpower. I mean. Unless you want me to tell you things that happened last week.
It’s funny now looking back at my childhood the things that have become clearer now that I’ve had kids. I know that remembering how I saw things helps me sometimes when I parent my kids, and helps me understand where they are coming from, just as much as parenting them helps me click certain facts into place about my own history. My children’s futures help me solve the mysteries of my own past. In these cases just memories of simple events, but I think the statement can be applied broadly to our whole selves as well.
At the very least, it’s a chance to get out the old family photos and reminisce about how cute I was.
Cute and peeing in the back of the car. Like you do.
I think I might be dating myself if I say that I always have this desire to shorten the holiday’s name to ID4. I might be dating myself, but I think the actual phrase I’m looking for is “I might be a total nerd.” But I have legitimate reasons for this:
1. I’m lazy and “Independence Day” is long.
2. “Independence” is one of those words I have a hard time spelling for some reason. It always comes out “independance”. Maybe cause it makes me want to dance? (Answer: NO.)
3. Jeff Goldblum was super hot in that movie.
Actually, now that I type that out, I wonder if anyone even remembers that the movie was nicknamed ID4 when it came out. I remember this vividly because it was my first summer working at the movie theatre and that Fourth of July I spent 9 hours straight working without any breaks at all (because my bosses were all, “Labor laws? We laugh in the face of labor laws! *whipcrack* You! Work like it’s 1894!”) and the line for Independence Day stretched twice around the mall. Srsly. Life was so hard in 1996. Without the option to buy your tickets online ahead of time or 4 different theaters totaling 106 different screens within three miles to choose from. I remember having customers who didn’t understand what ATM cards were and thought that “up to $40 cash back” meant they might win money.
I digress. The point is that we had bacon-wrapped hot dogs and Cokes to celebrate our country’s birth. We also saw a 3D movie, had cupcakes, played with glow sticks, watched fireworks, and wore our stars and stripes Chucks (well, I did) like good Americans. It was, overall, a pretty awesome day.
(There are fireworks in that picture. They’re just so tiny it looks like people standing with their heads on fire.)
I was looking over my most recent edition of PhotoJojo’s Time Capsule (which, if you are a Flickr person, you really need to sign up for this) and the thing that struck me is that in some ways (mostly those ways documented by photos), this June looks really similar to last June.
Take, for example, the drive-in. The kids and I usually try to hit the drive-in at least once a summer (it’s open year round here, but I am a delicate flower and daren’t venture outside at night in the winter), but we don’t necessarily try to get it done right in June. That is a coincidence (or, possibly, just an effect of how the movie industry plans their releases).
Last year:
This year:
And then there is the celebration of Litha. Which is always in June. So. Not really a surprise, I guess. But we haven’t necessarily always gone to the same beach over the years, and some of our celebrations have been more ceremonial than just running through waves and bringing home half the sand. But last year and this year we minimized. At the same… beach. So. There.
Last year:
This year:
I’ll never stop posting this picture. Sorry not sorry.
Bowling. (Which. Every time we go, or I blog about it, or think the word “bowling” I get this song in my head.) There is a nationwide program called Kids Bowl Free where you can sign up your kids for two free games each day of the summer. You only pay for shoes, and you can buy yourself a summer pass for only $25 to bowl with them. It’s awesome. It’s the only way I can afford bowling. We go a few times each summer, but the photos only happen in June, I guess, while the experience is shiny and new again.
Last year:
This year:
But here’s the oddest one. This is, apparently, the time of year where I lug giant books around with me and sit at the playground next to Trader Joe’s and read while the kids play. And photograph myself doing it (what? 7 Days is always in June, too).
Last year:
This year:
Lovely, isn’t it? It’s right in town, but full of nature. It’s on a hill with views in every direction – Spanish style buildings peeking through trees on hillsides, a glimpse of downtown, the bay sparkling beyond the airport, underbellies of planes as they roar threateningly above you on the way down the unusually steep hill to land at the airport. What? That’s not lovely to you? Perhaps it’s not idyllic, but it’s kind of awesome in a Wayne’s World sort of way. Or if you like to pretend you’re Jack Shephard dying in a bamboo field.
That’s a little one.
I sat there with a friend yesterday talking for hours about life and humans we know and drinking Hawaiian Mochas* and judging airlines for how clean the bottoms of their planes are, and we learned some things about this park.
1. Aliens landed there. We heard them. It was a very 1950’s-Martian type alien noise so I’m thinking flying saucers.
2. Something (possibly the Predator or maybe well-camoflauged velociraptors) was jumping around from tree to tree, clearly planning to kill us.
3. A few times the sky literally ripped in half right above our heads. It’s hard to see such a thing because sky just looks like sky, even when it’s ripped in half, but we heard it.
OR? Maybe this is just all related to the sound waves, wind, and sky-tearing that comes along behind jumbo jets. If you prefer living in a boring world where velociraptors don’t glide gracefully from tree to tree, that is.
NOTE: My daughter hasn’t even seen Lost, but I just noticed that this photo that she took and the one above it are right next to each other in my photostream. LOST IS REAL, YOU GUYS.
*Coconut, mocha, banana, and cinnamon. Yes banana. It’s DELICIOUS. Don’t judge.
I’ve been working at this body image thing for awhile now. Probably since I was first told I was fat, around eight years old (and a couple of years ago I came across some pictures of me as a kid, and you guys? I was a skinny little thing at that age. The fuck with people telling me I was fat? STABBY STABBY STABBY).
Me as a child, not fat: 
I didn’t know how to sort it out at that age, but my brain was screaming out that they were wrong. I struggled with knowing what the actual factual truth was, and still feeling less worthy of being a human because of how I thought I looked. It’s evolved a lot in the last 27ish years, and I know much better now how to love myself than I used to. And, yet, I keep finding these new layers, and each time I get to that level I feel like I have all the work yet to do. It is both energizing and exhausting.
Recently as I was leaving the gym, proud of myself for having worked hard, I thought to myself, “Even if I always stay fat, at least I’ll be fit.”
And then a little voice, from the back of my brain bravely spoke up and repeated a line I’d already read and nodded furiously in agreement with in many a fat acceptance blog.
But. So what if you’re not fit?
Because I am still holding onto that desperate need to be accepted and respected by everyone always.
And, yes, I know how unrealistic that is. But it’s my core operating system. It’s a bullshit core operating system, but it takes a lot of work and a lifetime to reprogram a core operating system.
So the thing hit me: I’m still working out for other people. I may have detached the weight loss itself from my exercise routines, but apparently only with the catch that I have to at least be in good shape. Cause that’ll show ’em.
Here’s a list of things I thought I liked about working out, but it turns out, none of these things are about me at all:
~Not being out of breath when I have to climb a flight of stairs around people who might think I’m just a fat fatty.
~Not being out of breath when I run and play with my kids. So strangers at the park won’t judge me.
~Going to the gym regularly to prove that some people are just fat no matter how much they exercise.
~Secretly wanting to be at least a little bit less fat. To show them.
Dear Me,
It’s not their business. Ignore them. You’re awesome.
Love,
Me
So here’s a list of things I actually do love about working out:
~Lifting weights and watching myself grow stronger.
~Doing harder cardio and watching myself grow stronger.
~Getting all sweaty and gross. No, really. I love that.
~Being able to do the more strenuous hikes without my head feeling like it’s trying to explode for lack of oxygen.
~Feeling good overall. Happier, more awake, less foggy. Regular exercise does this for me.
I’m going to keep those in mind and I’m going to do my best to live by them, to keep me motivated to exercise for me.
I’ve been a member of this gym now for almost a year and, while I certainly haven’t gone regularly, I’ve avoided that perfectionist attitude of, “well, I haven’t gone for a few weeks now so I just give up and when my contract is up I’ll cancel.” Instead I just go when I can, or sometimes just when I do.
And so what if I don’t? Well, now I know – on a conscious level, at least – that it won’t make me a failure.
I don’t have to be fit any more than I have to be thin. My personal value doesn’t rest upon size or fitness. It doesn’t rest on my health. It also doesn’t rest upon beauty, or intelligence, or sense of humor. I am valuable because I am a person. End. of. story.
(7 Days is a quarterly self-portrait group project I have taken part in for the last sixish years. One selfie a day for a week.)
Found these at Target in the Dollar Spot awhile back and bought them immediately because Tenth Doctor. And then I saved them especially for 7 Days. I totally forgot about them last run, but that turned out to be just perfect since today’s theme requires that my photo be inspired by movies. Win-win. Or maybe win-win-win. I lost count.
(7 Days is a quarterly self-portrait group project I have taken part in for the last sixish years. One selfie a day for a week.)
Bethany’s all, “Why are you, like, taking pictures of… yourself? That’s so weird.”
KIDDING. Cause, see, I met Bethany through 7 Days.
Spent the afternoon with Bethany, her mom Debbie, and Jen. And some kids.
We:
~Drank coffee.
~Looked at Google Maps and compared Omaha to San Diego (what? that’s normal)
~Edited photos (mostly they did, but I Instagrammed something)
~Laughed
~Tried to name my proxy owl
~Did an entire musical dance routine to make up for the lack of theme yesterday
One of those is an elaborate lie.
(7 Days is a quarterly self-portrait group project I have taken part in for the last sixish years. One selfie a day for a week.)
Jen’s here because she and Bethany are driving up to Portland to go to LeakyCon this week. (I was originally going to go, too, but my plans fell through. Boo! And while I’m very sad about that, I am sending this owl as my proxy.)
So all the 7 Dayers in SoCal got together at Brenda’s for an afternoon picnic. I brought my monopod to make group photos easier, and thanks goes to Katie for the pose idea.
And yes I’ve met nearly all of these people online (I met Summer in high school and Katie through Summer). None of them are even scary murderers. I’ve met some amazing people online – people who have become close friends, people from all over the world. I am so grateful to this little box that makes the world a smaller place.
Jen, by the way, is responsible for this new blog space and I’ve LOVED working with her. I’m so glad I got to meet her today.
